Right to Care
by Lady Emily
Summary: Hermione is confronted by Ron after taking McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party. HBP.


A/N: I certainly don't own Harry Potter and Co., and am making no money from the writing of this story. Please enjoy, and don't forget to review!

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><p><strong>Right to Care<strong>

"Bollocks." Hermione muttered as the staircase she needed to take her to the common room began to change. Normally she was never one to swear, but after the night she'd had...

To keep her balance, she grasped onto the banister, which, like on all the other staircases, had been wrapped with evergreen garlands in celebration of the season. If she'd been in any sort of holiday spirits at the beginning of the evening, Slughorn's Christmas party had certainly killed them.

Taking a seat on one of the steps, she removed her shoes, rubbing her aching soles ruefully as she waited for the staircase to move back to its original position. All she wanted to do was get back to Gryffindor Tower, get out of this dress, and sleep until classes were back in session. Between Ron's not speaking to her, Harry's paranoia about Malfoy, and Cormac McLaggen's unwanted advances, this was not turning out to be one of the best Christmases she'd ever had.

Finally the staircase realigned itself with her path, and Hermione could continue on her way. She carried her heels and crept down the corridors barefoot, checking carefully around each corner to make sure she didn't accidentally run back into Cormac. Since he'd picked her up at eight he'd done nothing but brag about himself and try to grope her, and she just couldn't take any more of either tonight. He'd simply been boring at the beginning of the evening, but with each butterbeer his persistence increased correspondingly, and she'd found herself fending off his wandering hands more than once. She also suspected that, at some point, he'd begun drinking something even stronger than butterbeer, because by the end of the night he'd become very loud and red-faced, and a little rougher with her than he probably meant to be.

She scowled, fingering the torn sleeve of her dress that he'd clumsily ripped as he tried to wrangle her under the mistletoe. It kept sliding down on her shoulder now, and though it wasn't as if he'd actually hurt her, and she knew the dress would be easily mended as soon as she retrieved her wand from her dorm—whether he knew it or not, Cormac was lucky she'd left it on her bedside table—it still irked her. What kind of behavior was that, especially for a first date?

Actually, considering that it was thrown by a teacher, the 'small, select gathering' had actually become quite wild by the time she had left. It could not be said that Slughorn's guests—the rich, famous, and well-connected of the wizarding world—didn't know how to party. Talking to most of them had, in fact, been quite interesting at first, although many of them were just as self-absorbed as Cormac, or worse. By the end though, most of the conversation had given way to loud, sloppy renditions of already-repeated stories, as well as ever-more-enthusiastic dancing and the pairing off of overamorous couples... the last of which, Hermione suspected, only encouraged Cormac and his questing hands. She'd spent the past two hours trying to escape him, and had finally managed to say goodbye to Harry and slip out undetected (though not, of course, before being treated to Harry's conspiracy theories about Malfoy and Snape.)

It was ridiculous, really, she thought as she tried to smooth back her disheveled hair. She'd known this would happen when she invited Cormac, of all people, to go with her. She hadn't even wanted to go to that stupid party in the first place!

Except _that_ wasn't exactly true, was it? There had been a few days, just after it was announced, that she'd been positively excited to go to Slughorn's party. Her already-gloomy expression darkened further. Of course, that was when she thought she'd be going with Ron.

_Ron_... He always knew the best thing to say or do to make her completely miserable, and sometimes Hermione found herself wondering if it was just a natural talent, or if he had to work at it. Then she scoffed. "_Work... not likely._" Ron was lazy as _anything_, could never be bothered doing his homework until the night before it was due, overslept every other day... if insulting her and winding her up took any effort at all, he probably wouldn't do it.

Of course, that wasn't _entirely_ fair. Ron might not put much effort into his schoolwork, but when something was really important to him, he worked hard at it, like Quidditch, for example. And if she or Harry, or any of his other friends, needed help, they could always depend on him to be there. She remembered back in third year, when she'd been too busy with her overwhelming courseload to help Hagrid prepare for Buckbeak's appeal. Without complaint, Ron had stepped right in to do it for Hagrid, and for her.

Too bad he hadn't done anything of the sort _lately._ Then again, it was probably difficult to do much at all with Lavender Brown permanently attached to his face. Lucky he was still eating and bathing, really.

The thought of Lavender Brown made Hermione's face flame with fury and embarrassment. Things between her and Ron had been going so well, for once. Yes, she'd made a mistake by assuming that Ron had only played well at the Slytherin match because of the _felix felicis, _and she knew she'd insulted him, but she hadn't meant to! She _knew_ Ron was a good Keeper; _he_ was the one who hadn't had faith in himself. And once she'd angered him it was easy for Lavender to swoop in and hang on his arm like some kind of blonde, giggling Quidditch trophy.

And if the fight with Ron hadn't been bad enough, watching him and Lavender snogging and groping all over the castle had been...

Hermione realized, horrified, that she was on the brink of tears. She dabbed her wet eyes with her wrists. She was done crying over Ron Weasley. She was only exhausted, and she'd had an awful night.

But Ron had _told_ her that he would go to the party with her! She'd thought... she'd thought it would be like a date, a real date, _finally_, after all these years of standing beside him, _waiting_ for him to realize that she was a girl, that she was more than a friend, that she _cared _for him in a way she just didn't care for Harry! And then, for no reason, with no warning at all, he just took up with Lavender like he had never accepted Hermione's invitation, like he hadn't blushed and stuttered when he'd found out she wanted to go with _him, _and not Cormac.

If she'd only kept her mouth shut about the _felix_! If instead, after the match, she'd told him that she'd known he could do it, that she'd always believed in him. Or simply told him that he'd been _amazing..._ because he had. If she'd been _proud _of him, the way Lavender had, instead of doubting him, the way he did himself. Maybe then he would have seen how she felt about him, would have come to the party with her. Tears of regret welled in her eyes once more. When she blinked, one fell, and suddenly she was crying in earnest.

She let herself imagine, just for a moment, how tonight would have been if it had gone the way it was supposed to. She'd have come downstairs at eight o'clock to find Ron, and not that vile Cormac, waiting for her in the common room, tugging uncomfortably at his dress robes (the nice ones Fred and George had bought him, not the admittedly-awful ones he'd worn to the Yule Ball.) But he'd stop fiddling with them when he saw her in her party dress, with her makeup done and her hair all sleeked down and shiny, and he'd have that slightly-stupid look on his face, the one that was part happiness and part awe, like he'd looked when they'd gone into Honeydukes for the first time. Or astonished and captivated, like he'd looked when she'd entered the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum... only this time, without the jealousy.

And she'd blush, and she'd smile at him, and she'd tell him he cleaned up nice, because he did look rather smart in those new robes of his. His ears would turn red and he'd stutter something about her looking nice too, and after a few awkward seconds they'd decide to get going, and neither of them would be brave enough to take the other's hand, but they'd walk to the party very close together and sometimes their hands would brush together anyway.

When they walked into the party Slughorn would greet them; he'd mess up Ron's name again, of course, but Ron would be so busy looking around at the other guests that he'd barely notice. They'd go around and have a chat with some of the guests, and Harry, Luna, and Ginny, of course, and Ron would stuff his face at the dessert table. Ron would keep a running commentary of the evening, and point out amusing things about the other guests, and Hermione would scold him for it, but laugh anyway. Cormac would probably have found some other unfortunate girl to feel up under the mistletoe, and Hermione would see them and feel sorry for her.

And then, maybe, later in the night, Ron would finally get up the courage to ask her to dance, and she'd accept, and it would be awkward at first because he'd be unsure where to place his hands. Eventually, she'd get him to put them around her waist, and she'd wrap hers around his neck, and they'd sway together slowly- nothing too complicated, because Ron was too tall and lanky to be much of a dancer. They'd talk while they danced, because it was rare that either of them ever stopped talking while they were together, but eventually there'd be a lapse in the conversation, and Ron would suddenly realize that they were standing under mistletoe.

A thrill would run through her then, but she'd blush and tell him that he didn't have to, that kissing under the mistletoe was a silly, antiquated tradition that was-

And he'd cut her off with his lips, to her surprise and delight. He'd pull away quickly though, beet-red and stammering, and then it would be her turn to tug his head down to hers—although he was very tall, she would be wearing heels, and so it would be easy to do. This time the kiss would be longer, and she'd lean into his body, and his hands would roam her back of their own accord. (He'd be gentlemanly about it though, of course. Nothing like Cormac... although even if he _was_, Hermione wasn't sure that she'd _quite_ mind...)

"Password?" A voice broke into her reverie, and Hermione jumped, blushing scarlet. She'd been so lost in her daydream that she hadn't realized she'd come to the Fat Lady. "You all right, dear?" An expression of concern momentarily flitted over the portrait's round, happy face.

Hermione wiped the remaining tears off her cheeks. "I'm fine. Mistletoe."

"_Mistletoeee._" The Fat Lady confirmed in a sing-song tone, clearly in the holiday spirit herself. The portrait swung open and Hermione climbed through the hole.

While the Hogwarts corridors were perpetually drafty, the common room was warm and welcoming. Even dim and empty, as it was now, a cheery fire crackled in the fireplace, sending warm light flickering over the worn armchairs and scarlet wall hangings. Hermione sighed with relief. She'd half-thought Cormac would be sitting here waiting for her.

"Well, you're home late."

Hermione jumped about a foot, startled. Whirling around, she saw Ron sitting in one of the armchairs, hidden from view of the portrait hole by its high back. Hoping he couldn't see her flushed face in the red light of the fire, she gathered her wits quickly. "I didn't realize I had a curfew." she said coolly.

Ron stood up. "Where's your _date?_"

"My date?" Hermione repeated.

"I _know_ you went to Sluggy's party with _McLaggen_." Ron said, spitting out the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Of _course_ he knew, she'd _meant_ for him to know! Hadn't she told Parvati right in front of him at breakfast? "I don't see how it's any of _your _business." Hermione returned primly, somewhat self-satisfied.

He'd taken a few steps closer, eyes raking over her, and now he was frowning. Hermione bit her lip as she realized that he had noticed the ripped sleeve of her dress, and she quickly tugged it back over her shoulder, only to have it slide off again. "What happened to your dress?" he asked. Then, "Have you been _crying_?"

"No, I'm just tired." Hermione denied. She'd stupidly forgotten that she'd been wearing mascara for once; of _course_ he could see the tracks of her tears.

"What happened?" he asked again, and she could practically see the storm clouds gathering in his eyes. "Did he hurt you?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. "What? No!" Cormac was a self-centered jerk, but Ron couldn't possibly thing that he'd actually physically _attack_ her, could he?

"Then what happened?" Ron pressed angrily. Hermione bristled at his tone. How dare he get angry at her for coming home late (and admittedly disheveled)! If he wanted to know what happened at the party then he should have come with her, shouldn't he? It wasn't as if he hadn't been invited to!

"I went to a party!" she fired back. "And it got a little crazy. And I'll have you know that I'm not late at all, it was still going on when I left! Not that you have any right to care!"

"_Any right to care_?" he growled, and she shivered a little bit at his tone. "I'm your best friend!"

"Yeah, you've sure been acting like it lately." Hermione mumbled cuttingly, but he either ignored or didn't hear her.

"You come home all mussed up, crying, with your dress ripped, what am I supposed to think?" he continued furiously. "If that git so much as laid a _hand _on you..."

It dawned on Hermione suddenly that he wasn't angry _at _her, he was angry _for _her. He wasn't just jealous that she'd gone to the party with someone else, he was afraid that Cormac had tried to take advantage of her. Suddenly her body flooded with heat as she realized that she rather _liked_ Ron's protective attitude. "It was an accident. He didn't hurt me." she reassured him softly.

"But he _did_ lay a hand on you." Ron said, reading into her sentence infuriatingly.

"Well of course he did, he was my date!" Hermione answered baldly, feeling slightly guilty as Ron blanched. Well, perhaps now he could _begin_ to appreciate how she felt when she saw him with his lips attached to Lavender. "He didn't do anything I didn't want him to." she said, adding with a small smile, "Though not for lack of trying..."

Ron didn't appreciate her little joke. "That smarmy bastard! I'll-"

"You'll do what, Ron?" Hermione challenged. As much as Ron's indignation secretly thrilled her, it wasn't as though she was his to protect... _Lavender_ would likely have something to say if she could see how he was acting right now. "If I don't mind Cormac's... _enthusiasm_... why should you?"

"Enthusiasm!" Ron fumed, beginning to look a bit sick now. "If you were so pleased about it then why were you _crying_?"

"I wasn't crying over Cormac!" Hermione snapped.

"Then _why_?" Ron pressed disbelievingly.

To her horror, Hermione felt tears threatening once more. "Because- because it's been a long, terrible night and I'm very tired." she said, only partially lying.

At her description of the evening as 'terrible,' Ron seemed to brighten up. "Well that's what you get for taking McLaggen, isn't it?" he said smugly. "Can't imagine why you wanted to go with that tosser-"

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. She burst into tears. "I _didn't _want to go with McLaggen! You _know_ who I wanted to go with, because I asked _you_! So you can stop being angry with me, and start being angry with yourself, because if you don't like the way this turned out, it's nobody's fault but _yours_!" She wheeled around, blindly heading for the staircase to the girls' dormitory, but behind her, he took a few steps forward, reached out and grabbed her by the elbow, yanking her back.

Suddenly, somehow, she found herself wrapped in his arms, her face buried in his chest. It was unusual really, because usually in the face of her tears Ron could do nothing but watch her walk away, gaping stupidly after her. He never followed her, never reached out to stop her, never apologized...

"I'm sorry." he whispered into her hair, tightening his arms around her, and this only made her sob harder. "Don't cry, Hermione. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot."

"You were brilliant at the Slytherin match." she sobbed irrelevantly into his chest. "I never meant to say it was the _felix_..."

"What?" He sounded confused, and she couldn't blame him. It was embarrassing the way she was acting, really, and she wanted to stop, but she _couldn't_. To his credit, he answered her, though he clearly didn't understand how it related to the topic at hand. "I know, Hermione, it's fine. It's fine. I thought it was the _felix_ too."

She nodded, and slipped her arms around him as well, hugging him tightly. As humiliated as she felt right now, she and Ron really hadn't spoken for weeks, and it felt wonderful to stop fighting for a minute, to just stand here together, holding each other.

"Hermione..." he said, a note of bewilderment in his voice that she couldn't help but think was adorable. "Please... please don't cry. I'm sorry I yelled. I was... I was just worried. That-that you were hurt."

Hermione pulled away, sniffling. "I'm not." she assured him again, avoiding his eyes.

"Yes, you are." he said quietly, and she nearly gasped as he cupped her face in one of his big, warm hands, thumbing away her tears. They'd never been in such an intimate position before. "-And I'm sorry."

Their eyes met, and Hermione opened her mouth, but couldn't speak. Her high heels clattered to the ground, unnoticed by either.

"Wish I'd gone with you tonight." he whispered.

"Me too." she finally managed, and then her eyes were fluttering shut, and she just knew he was going to kiss her, sod Cormac, sod Lavender.

"_Hermione..._" he murmured, just before the portrait hole swung open, causing them to jump apart.

She nearly felt like crying again when McLaggen, of all people, clambered into the common room, and smiled at her rather drunkenly. "Granger! Wondered where you'd gotten off to!" he chuckled. "Little minx, this one." he said, grinning significantly at Ron.

She felt Ron tense up beside her, and stepped forward before he decided to hex their interrupter. Honestly, she'd like to hex him herself. "Good night, Cormac." she said firmly.

"Oh?" McLaggen said, looking surprised. "Well, there's always the next party, I suppose."

"No, Cormac, there isn't." Hermione said, exasperated. "I had a perfectly awful time tonight, and I won't be attending any more parties with you. Nor going anywhere else, either."

McLaggen snorted, seeming not to take her seriously. "All right then, Granger. See you at breakfast." he said, heading up the stairs to the boys' dorms.

"...Wanker." Ron muttered from behind her.

"Felt rather good to tell him off, though." Hermione said, turning back to him.

"Would've been better if he'd actually _realized_ you were trying to chuck him." Ron pointed out.

"True." They both smiled. The tension between them was broken, and Hermione was left with the familiar feeling of being-friends-again-after-a-months-long-row. They'd come back to normal... whatever that was for them.

Ron smoothed a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "You're exhausted. You should get to bed."

"Don't tell me what I sh-" Hermione argued automatically, only to cut herself off with a huge yawn. She grinned sheepishly. "Fine, you're right, _this time._"

"Finally!" Ron said. "Hallelujah!"

"Shut up." she said, giving him a little shove. Her hand lingered on his shoulder a little longer than it should've, before she let go and turned toward the staircase.

"Hermione?" Ron spoke up, and she turned around quickly.

"Yes?"

"Good night." he said, sinking back into his chair with a weak smile, the firelight reflecting brightly off his hair.

She smiled back. "Good night, Ron."


End file.
